Runs with Kenyans
In this past month my lap runs around the lake have been a rather grim little affair. Without B’s cheery company, I run while bogged down in ruminations about all the places my foot hurts, how slow-ass I am etc.
It does not help that conditions have varied from scorching heat and literal clouds of nostril-invading gnats to gusty, chilling winds.
My memorial day weekend hike (#1) took place in Marin amidst drizzle that became rain that leached body heat out when stuck by accompanying wind.
Fort Cronkite Hike
It made for atmospheric ambiance, particularly around the haunting old WWII ruins, but not such a lovely day out. By Memorial day hike #2, it was sunny, dusty, sweaty business, at the aforementioned/blogged Rancho San Antonio.
This morning I went plodding along, bargaining with myself mentally.
“We can do 6 miles.”
“well…how about 4?”
“We’re gonna die on triathlon day if you keep slacking like this…”
“It’s been a long week, tomorrow’s yoga and I promise we’ll swim and maybe run again monday…”
“Just find a good run playlist and get a move on.”
My stomach growls, I am aching for a green tea/Peets coffee fix, (and a nice pastry to boot.) Not promising. Then on lap two, I notice two high-stepping young lads up ahead. Ok, I thought, I can pace myself by following those guys, keep them in sight, just don’t get too far behind them.
So I followed, and began to wonder what their story was. They both wore the same plain white tees and black and white striped basketball shorts. Perhaps they were on a high school track team around here. At intervals they’d pick up their steps higher, and one would lace his hands behind his head as he ran.
Mysteriously, I started to catch up.
I think they’re getting a bit winded. I wind up passing them.
A quarter mile later I hear them running up behind me.
They pass. I catch up.
Am on the verge of passing yet again. Geez, this is really starting to remind me of precisely how I met beloved B, trying to ditch one another.
“I’m pacing myself on you guys!”
They smile and tell me “you’re very good.”
I think that’s quite I stretch but I am happy for running company. I fall in beside them as we run. They say they are at the lake “For fun. Exercise.”
I detect an accent and wonder even more what their story is.
I tell them a bit about the races I am training for, and they seem fascinated.
They ask if I “win things”, to which I laugh like a maniac.
“Hahaha, oh NO. Not me. I go slow, just for fun. Some of the races have prizes for the winners. I think always the winners are Kenyan.”
Suddenly they both exclaim, “We are from Kenya!!”
They seem delighted. They ask about my home country, and about whether there are great runners from Taiwan too. Er, sadly, I think the answer to that is a pretty clear NO. Especially compared to Kenya.
(Although our current President is a mighty fine runner)President Ma, swimmer and jogger
At the end of 4 miles, one of the young men directs us to “go ahead without me!”
So S and I chat for another loop. He’s only been in Fremont for 7 months.
“I think my brother and I are very lucky, we both got Rotary Club scholarships to come and go to school.” He’s 25. Ah. To be 25 again…(but less of an idiot second time ’round.)
He mentions that he used to run “8, maybe 10, can also be 20 miles”. I raise an eyebrow and encourage him to sign up for some races. He asks more about how I came to be in Fremont, and whether I will do all the races. I find myself explaining that I am not so fast these days, and at one point mention that my family has been in California for more than 30 years now.
He looks stunned. “What?!”
“S, I’m almost 35 years old.”
He goes on a flattering litany that no one who sees me would think I am 35, because I am “looking so fit, very young.”
I have to laugh, “yeah sure, of COURSE compared to White Americans maybe, Chinese look young.”
He notes that people in Kenya “are not so fat, eat too much, like here.”
I note that that is probably one of the greatest understatements I’ve heard in awhile.
Gave him my e-mail, and hopes he does follow up on e-mailing me because I’ve quite a list of races to send his way.
Loving for All
My teeming handful of readers are aware of my deep affection for my mum. But I just about had to bite her head off last week when she was commenting her disapproval of the CA gay rights decision. Dear mum was spouting off the usual trite and ignorant arguments:
"Well, it's not good for their poor kids."
Exasperated, I reminded her that I work every day with children whose hetero parents are not exactly doing a stellar job of parenting (to put it mildly). At least the majority of gay parents have had to put a lot of thought, effort, and prep into becoming parents, which is WAY more than I can say for most straight folks & their oopsy kids & babymamma/babydaddy drama.
“It’s not…natural.”
Look, if it were SO dysfunctional, gayness would have evolved right outta the population ages ago. But the traits persists in some 10% of the population, and exists in the more intelligent of our animal friends (dolphins.)
And don’t get me started on what “God said” because any mortal man who claims to know what God dictated has a serious problem with scientific facts. The “almighty” has been invoked to justify all sorts of dubious personal,political, and all too human agendas.
Believe what you want in your own home. I respect that. But your faith does not Give you the right to impair theCivil rights of others.
I asked her if she actually knew any gay couples (Uh, that would be a NO), because I do, and many of them share a loyalty and commitment that would put most of my rapidly-divorcing straight friends' unions to shame.
Finally I reminded her of two points she grudgingly admitted were true:1) Homosexual citizens pay all the same taxes and should have all the same benefits as other law abiding citizens.
More importantly, 2) It once was also illegal for those of different ethnic groups to marry. Which now seems criminally ignorant and cruel. In the Bay area, we are surrounded by beautiful mixed race, mixed culture families. I certainly comprehend that gayness creeps a lot of people out. We always tend to fear, laugh at, or cringe from what we do not know. But look upon your beloved friends and neighbors of mixed ethnicity families. The Keanu Reeves of the world, if you will. And remember that just a few short decades ago, that love was treated as an illegal crime against nature. I hope one day soon we will recall the illogical, knee jerkanti-gay sentiments as similarly ridiculous.
Heteros have done just fine demeaning marriage, allowing gay couples the opportunity to take a potshot at this lotto in life we call LOVE, is a human right. Below is an essay from Mrs. Loving, whose landmark case changed the future for thousands of loving families in this country.
Loving for AllBy Mildred Loving
Prepared for Delivery on June 12, 2007,
The 40th Anniversary of the Loving vs. Virginia Announcement
When my late husband, Richard, and I got married in Washington, DC in 1958, it wasn't to make a political statement or start a fight. We were in love, and we wanted to be married.
We didn't get married in Washington because we wanted to marry there. Wedid it there because the government wouldn't allow us to marry back homein Virginia where we grew up, where we met, where we fell in love, andwhere we wanted to be together and build our family. You see, I am awoman of color and Richard was white, and at that time people believed itwas okay to keep us from marrying because of their ideas of who shouldmarry whom.
When Richard and I came back to our home in Virginia, happily married, we had no intention of battling over the law. We made a commitment to each other in our love and lives, and now had the legal commitment, calledmarriage, to match. Isn't that what marriage is?
Not long after our wedding, we were awakened in the middle of the night in our own bedroom by deputy sheriffs and actually arrested for the"crime" of marrying the wrong kind of person. Our marriage certificate was hanging on the wall above the bed. The state prosecuted Richard and me, and after we were found guilty, the judge declared: "Almighty Godcreated the races white, black, yellow, malay and red, and he placed them on separate continents. And but for the interference with his arrangementthere would be no cause for such marriages. The fact that he separated the races shows that he did not intend for the races to mix." He sentenced us to a year in prison, but offered to suspend the sentence ifwe left our home in Virginia for 25 years exile.We left, and got a lawyer. Richard and I had to fight, but still were notfighting for a cause. We were fighting for our love.
Though it turned out we had to fight, happily Richard and I didn't haveto fight alone. Thanks to groups like the ACLU and the NAACP LegalDefense & Education Fund, and so many good people around the countrywilling to speak up, we took our case for the freedom to marry all theway to the U.S. Supreme Court. And on June 12, 1967, the Supreme Courtruled unanimously that, "The freedom to marry has long been recognized asone of the vital personal rights essential to the orderly pursuit ofhappiness by free men," a "basic civil right."
My generation was bitterly divided over something that should have beenso clear and right. The majority believed that what the judge said, thatit was God's plan to keep people apart, and that government shoulddiscriminate against people in love. But I have lived long enough now tosee big changes. The older generation's fears and prejudices have givenway, and today's young people realize that if someone loves someone theyhave a right to marry.
Surrounded as I am now by wonderful children and grandchildren, not a daygoes by that I don't think of Richard and our love, our right to marry,and how much it meant to me to have that freedom to marry the personprecious to me, even if others thought he was the "wrong kind of person"for me to marry. I believe all Americans, no matter their race, no matter their sex, no matter their sexual orientation, should have that same freedom to marry. government has no business imposing some people's religious beliefs over others. Especially if it denies people's civil rights.
I am still not a political person, but I am proud that Richard's and myname is on a court case that can help reinforce the love, the commitment,the fairness, and the family that so many people, black or white, youngor old, gay or straight seek in life. I support the freedom to marry forall. That's what Loving, and loving, are all about.
Mountain View Art & Wine
So I get to be my friend Nathiya’s "neck model". If you see her lovely booth at one of the many art and wine festivals this summer, you may see a Pineapple Seed booth of her fabulously elegant and clean line jewelry. We went to visit at Mtn. View last weekend and we thought it might be sort of funny to "take a picture, in front of your picture."
Me and my neckline representin’ Pineappleseed
The endless knot & my fave blue dress as it appears on the Pineapple Seed banner
Although in these shots you can’t see the beautiful endless knot pendant in the banner, nor the botanical I wore with my green dress in that sweltering heat.
The festival was fun. People dressed up as giant plush Blackberry phones embraced as we all cracked up at the "phone sex." A random man with a stylish hat and Cuban shirt bought me a roasted corn on the cob…which actually made me much happier than all those occasions when guys would buy me alcoholic drinks (that I needed about as much as a hole in the head). The show was rife with fabulous photography, jewelry, food. Music was pretty darn good too. We tried not to titter too much at some of the more inane questions from visitors to her booth. ("Oh, these are made of Pinepple Seeds??" Sheesh. Some people are just very literal, concrete thinkers…)
We wound up the evening with an impromptu Party of 8 dinner at Chocolate Sushi in Sunnyvale.
Nathiya, BTW, also has blessed us with our Christmas card photo, family photos with the in laws and cutie pies, and my sweethearts’ engagement pics.
My neice looking SO adorable squeezy hug cute (even though she was a tad cranky that day)
A good eye and a good lens are a killer combo!
Props to Moms
"Mother Love is the fuel that enables a normal human being to do the impossible."
-Marrion C. Garretty
Mom’s day, Mothering Sunday, Mother’s Day, Dia de las madres…however you slice it, it’s a Hallmark gimmick for an appreciation that we oughta be throwing parades for on a weekly basis.
The flower ads and gag-me, overly smooshy, sentimental cards just don’t interest me. But it’s a wonderful opportunity to cook for the moms, and offer props for all they do. Not just my own mom and grandma(s), but the aunties, godmom, and all the friends’ moms, as well as the cousin and friends who are now impressing me with their parenting stamina as well.
All my friends joke that their children will require huge therapy bills one day…but it is precisely the kind of parents who think about such things that do not cause that kind of dysfunction!
The quote I chose at the beginning of this, is sadly, only true for some of us. Not everyone is graced with the type of mother love that believes in you so blindly, that you keep on runnin’ even when things seem impossible. Did my mom ever doubt me? Heck, yes! Doubted my fashion choices, boyfriend choices, career choice…my room decor, hairstyle, phone bills, sobriety, social skills…frankly, even my intelligence during some choice moments. But I’m Ok with that. Because she let me try. She often didn’t tell me of her doubts until years after the fact.
I never became one of those Asian geeks obsessed with their 4.0’s. Hell, I doubt I ever, ever had straight A’s! Much more importantly, she helped make me a compassionate, creative, and hard working person. School was important, but so was the zoo, and museums, making pancakes, raising pets, dancing, gardening, traveling, reading trips to the library, and helping others. No doubt she questioned her judgment during my leather-clad, chain smoking, narcissist-dating, binge drinking years. But that weird girl went on to her dream school in L.A. Earned a doctorate, traveled to a dozen countries, and donated hundreds of hours of volunteer work.
B and I have spent many a run chatting about how amazing our moms are, and how we just kinda lucked out on the lotto of life in that category.
Sometimes doing psychotherapy feels like re-parenting someone who never grew up with that unconditional positive regard, that smiling face is the crowd. I feel sad to think of the moms who aren’t with us, about how I don’t buy grandma cards or gifts anymore… because one has passed from this life and the other is no longer cognizant of it. But I will always remember the grandma hugs, their laughs, the delicate looking hands that knitted blankets and sweaters or braided my hair.
The life I live seemed impossible not long ago, and probably would have sounded impossible to mom when she was my age.
Mom just came over to pick something up (which never occurs without a simultaneous drop-off), and brought me a fascinating concoction. Apparently mom is having fun with her new mega-blender.
"This has 10 things in it! Blackberries, strawberries, lemon, papaya, yogurt, broccoli, cucumber, banana…" Honestly I can’t even recall the entire list because I probably stopped listening when she said "broccoli." I’m no hater of cruciferous vegetables, had broccoli at lunch today in fact. But in my smoothie? I pour the glass into my mug and the thing is anti-gravity thick. But hey, it’s pretty good!
Adidas ain’t got anything on moms- "Impossible is Nothing."
Rancho San Antonio, Los Altos
Just had post PRK post op appointment #2. Next visit is in 2 months. Thus far I am
one satisfied customer. Since Dr. Hyver
is in Santa Clara, I took this South bay
appointment as a reason to get some exercise at my beloved Rancho San Antonio
Park in Los Altos. W and I used to go there all the
time, including holidays like Thanksgiving, to talk and hike and look at the
creatures, bunnies, deer, birds of all kinds. It’s one of the things I miss most about the Cupertino home-Rancho San Antonio. Most of my friends no longer live in our old hood, save the one who is buried at rest near the
park gates at Gates of Heaven cemetery.
Rancho San Antonio
Today’s primary motivation? The fact that I already
registered and forked over some $$ for the first sprint Triathlon of the
season. Now I seriously have to get consistent about training. Despite my
many years of visiting this park, I have never, ever run in it. Too hilly.
Strenuous enough just to walk it. But
today, I figure a long hike with some short burst runs would do me good.
In HerSports magazine, one competitive athlete mentioned the
boost to her performance once she hired a professional trainer. She shared that the key piece of advice was: her trainer said the human mind can only focus on 3 things at a time, max. So to stay concentrated on just a few actions
when you train. She wrote about focusing
her mind on say, “keep your arms in the right position”, or “go for speed.”
In that case, those with sub-clinical, or full blown
attention deficit problems such as my own, are pretty screwed. Focus. OK. I
start out focusing on the breath. In
through the nose, out through the mouth. Feel it move deep into the very base of the lungs. Ahhhh.
Now focus on the muscles warming up in your legs. Calves are
going, thighs engaging, hips opening up, keep the ankles supple yet strong…
And then my mind takes off into its own galloping tour.
I did hike. And I ran at least halfway as
well. But here’s a tour of the
free-associating, non-diligent training mind:
Rancho San Antonio…It’s
green, the plant leaves are tender new shoots, stream is running what a peaceful
sound. In a month or two it will be dry as heck, dusty, this is perfect. Shadows and light, natural EMDR. Wonder if Nathiya would tolerate the long ass
hike to come up here and take photos of this. There is a little farm here, piglets and sheep, a garden featuring "lambs ears" fuzzy leaves I can’t resist stroking
If one encounters a mountain lion “appear as large as
possible” W and I thought that as so funny. What could we do? Spread out our
jackets and do jumping jacks?
Listening for mountain lions, try to stop imagining the
giant cat bounding out of the bushes. Remember the size of that paw we saw on the Puma in Salinas
I wonder if I totally ruined these trail runners already in Nicaragua? Probably gonna pay for this manana. I read its healthiest to go barefoot anyways
Check out that older man who is fit as all get out. Dang. Could
kick anyone’s ass, I hope I am a fraction like that in my 50’s. Hmm. I guess
chest hair starts to go gray eventually too.
Remember the day W and I hiked in winter and each blade of
grass glistened with frost like a magical wonderland. It was like something from Pan’s labyrinth. Or the time we saw a real wildcat- muscular
creature stalking the shore of the little stream, it was like a speel that such a
creature was here with us,we feel silent, enthralled
Listening for rattlesnakes, remember W, how that man waving
a branch and yelling was actually scarier than the snake he was freaking out
about?!
Every potential boyfriend has been dragged up and down this trail, W always
laughed at the one who complained practically the whole time. This place in
my mind is always about W, and is maybe a rite of passage for the boys in our
lives. Jo and I always come too every
time she comes back from Taipei.
We take photos at the top of Wildcat loop. Look- there’s Shoreline ampitheatre,
over there the giant jello- mold looking hangars of Moffett. A reddish haired man I once cared for lived near here, he had a bit of a breakdown, I wonder how his mind is these days, and his kind mom.
Quail. How did we
come up with such a totally dorky state bird? One can understand the Bald eagle, but quail? They
are truly adorable, and dang loud for such a tiny thing. Bravely standing watch and screaming to the
others who are foraging.
I can’t help
but smile at that little dark bobble thing on their heads.
Doing, doing, doing.
How can anyone take seriously this teardrop shaped dingly thing at the top of
its head…then again perhaps it does suit
California
well. Beautiful and odd. Wow, that dude is pushing his kid up the trail in a race stroller-I’ve pushed run strollers before but that thing is like a 4 wheel drive buggy of a stroller, she is CUTE, Dad is straining up the path. Trying not to step on lizards remembering Siggy from
Germany, she was SO fascinated with the common lizard,
told me she’d never seen such a thing for it was far too cold in
Germany. Hope
my knee holds up with all this pounding, going downhill now and imagine rolling
uncontrollably if I trip
Thinking about Nathiya’s photo of a squirrel, and my own
photo of a bushy tailed birdfeeder raider-and then as if I am hallucinating, I
see something shaped like a squirrel a the side of the trail – but the SIZE of
a lizard.
Stop running and stare. Oh!
It’s the bittiest stripey chipmunk I have ever seen! Less than a third of the size of the insane
robber chipmunks atop
Lassen peak.
Now an observation of a fellow hiker…how does one get a huge
spare tire yet still have no ass? Must be some kind of white thing…
The time W and I hiked so late it was pitch dark, and a
creature prowling across the path scared the crap out of us.
I stretch out on the steel bars at the end of trail. A Latino man who said “hola!hola!” to me on
the trail notes “you are very elastic.” We chat a bit, his calf muscle has cramped up, I recommend yoga and more
stretching to him.
My next stop? The infamous
Coffee Society where I tease the barista about their frequent whipped cream
shortages. “I need full fat,” I say “does
the owner lock up the cream chargers because you guys abuse them?!” Remember
learning that one can get high as a kite of the N2O in a professional grade whipped
cream canister. “We don’t abuse drugs at
Coffee Society, we just Use them, not abuse them” he responds with a smirk.
Sleeping amidst the roars
P & I were about to celebrate our 5th wedding
anniversary. Old friends of mine did not bother hiding their amazement that I
had managed to stay cheerfully wed amidst the crapshoot of life. Divorces
already litter the social scene around us.
"Let’s go out of town!" I ventured. But airfare costs and giant
workloads soon dampened our enthusiasm for jetsetting out of town. So I
got online and scouted for local daytrips or bed and breakfasts. Tempting
to go back to Yosemite, but the only options
besides the $600+ room at Ahwanee, is the "unheated" tent
cabin.
Hmm. I like camping, but subjecting P to roughing it &
freezing his butt off whilst trekking to a shared potty in the woods on our
anniversary, would probably only remind him of all the difficult things he has
to live with…
One of my doctoral interns was recently proposed to in
Monterey. I went to the
Monterey website.
Been to the aquarium & cannery Row a dozen times already…what else, what
else…Hey! "Wild Things Safari Style Bed and Breakfast/Vision Quest
Animal Ranch"
The photos depict a thrilled couple gazing at a cheetah
perched on the railing of their cabin. My reaction to this photo: can’t
get too excited since this is rare, but how cool would that be!?
P’s reaction: I don’t really want to see it THAT close.
Me: But look how BEEEUtiful…
P: That thing can KILL us!
Me: Well sure, but it’s really not likely…
He reminds me that I insisted we go to Taipei zoo within weeks of the SF Tatiana tiger fatal maulings, after which he swore off all zoos. Also reminds me that I insisted we take pictures petting the alligator in Thailand, and swim with sharks and rays in Belize. I insist that humans are infinitely less trustworthy and more dangerous than animals. We explore the website together and ascertain that there is only 1 cabin left
on the night was plan to celebrate. The Giraffe Manor, or nothing.
He
starts Googling. Searching for any reports of animal attacks on humans at
this park. All that comes up is that the 500 lb. lion who resides there
has been a movie star and filmed attack scenes. You know, the Dreyfus
commercial lion, the lion in George of the Jungle. With a dubious look,
he goes ahead and books it.
So. We drive toward Salinas.
"What’s in Salinas?"
he asks.
The only thing that comes to mind, besides our animal destination, is the Janis
Joplin song, "One day up near
Salinas,
Lord, I let him slip away. He’s
lookin’ for that home and I hope he finds it But I’d trade all o’ my tomorrows for one single yesterday,To be holdin’ Bobby’s body next to
mine. Freedom’s just another
word for nothin’ left to lose, Nothin’,
that’s all that Bobby left me, yeah. But
if feelin’ good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues, Hey, feelin’ good was good enough for me, mm-hmm. Good enough for me and my Bobby
McGee."
(Sing along now, all you readers of a certain age know this one)
But I digress.
We
cruise past endless rows of lettuce and strawberry fields. I start
reading about the National Steinbeck Center in downtown Salinas.
We feel sort of anti-intellectual that we can’t seem to name Steinbeck books
besides Grapes of Wrath. (We later
recalled East of Eden, The Pearl, etc.) Little Salinas is rightly proud of their Nobel
Laureate. We drive into the little ranch
and I start squealing immediately- there are spotted brown ponies, emu, a
zebra, donkeys, and llamas with sheep in the pens. A sole staff member
informs us that she can’t check us in for the B & B until 3pm. We
wander around for the 20 minutes ’til then. P walks towards small cages
where 2 baboons stare intently and attempt to communicate with us thickheaded
humans. As I begin to follow, I notice the wide gate shutting on us.
"Uhhhhh…honey? I think we’re trapped."
This
place is not a zoo. It’s a educational center as well as a site for movie and
commercial working animals. So all the animals are not only well fed, with
shining coats, but they are inquisitive and used to humans. The capuchin
monkey comes up and waves his bananas and reaches for us and babbles.
"I want to play with you but I think we’re gonna get busted!" We walk
further. A Siberian lynx stands regally, like a housecat times 20, then we see
Josef the Lion, the tigers, a huge hyena that looks like he leapt out of the
Lion king movie stills (looks like a dopg, yet more closely related to cats,
and hermaphrodites to boot), and a black bear named Brandi. (one can pay to
meet Brandi in vivo and get a photo of her licking/kissing your face). The next day we would meet some of the other
residents, such as the kangaroo, Puma, wallaby, Argentine mara, alligators and
ocelot.
The
staff person returns from her jaunt taking visitors to feed elephants.
"How did you guys get in here?!" I have visions of us being
kicked out before ever checking into our cabin. We mutter that we were hanging around waiting for her and suddenly the
gate closed on us. She accepts this, and
checks us in. Explains the cabin ground
rules. No Smoking. No Children. My kind of place!
There
are 4 canvas sided tent cabins in the B& B section. We are spaced all around the elephant play
area where there is a pond, shade, and lots of hay and grass and roaming
space. Each cabin has a small deck where
we all park ourselves with binoculars and observe the elephants as if we were
on a real African safari. We watch
Jasmine the zebra playing around with an elephant. Literally. She hops, skips,
and bumps around the elephant, and lets it warp its trunk partway around her
neck, and poke at her. At first we are
stunned that they are fighting, then delighted to see them frolic
playfully. Dang. You better have a
deeply trusting relationship to let a huge trunk go winding around your neck
for fun! The ostriches look angrily back
at us, and come running over every time we move closer. When I worked at PG&E I recall hearing
how a maintenance man checking on wires was viciously attacked by an ostrich
that tried to kick him to death. “Geez. Look at the size of those legs!” P and
I agree that ostriches are a sure indicator that birds indeed are dinosaurs. The staff bring two animals over to visit, a
giant, poofy haired, dark-eyed possum that is prettier than any possum I’ve
ever met in the wild. Also, a bizarre
active-nosed creature that suddenly looks familiar. “Coati!!” Oh, we met one of these as it prowled around the ruins of Tikal in Guatemala.
The staffwoman led a Coatimundi on a harness leash, it prowled around curiously
and rested on logs near the path. She
looked like a mix of raccoon (her actual species cousin)-anteater-squirrel-cat.
Inside
the canvas, there is real furniture, a bed with 2 heatpads, a rocking chair,
shelves full of giraffe décor, giraffe lamp and table, giraffe bedsheets and
planter…you get the picture. There is running
hot water, a fridge, and mosquito netting draped over the bed for ambiance. Even a TV and a space heater. It is freakishly cold this weekend, and we
sit in our tent as the wind flaps the canvas. We visit teeny downtown Salinas where apparently the only thing to do after 6pm on a Saturday is to see a movie
or play chess at Rollick’s café. Not so
great for the local economy, but fabulous for those of us who loathe tourist
throngs. We dine at the Salinas Valley
Fish House, eating t excess in our typical celebratory binge, and ordering ‘Death
by Chocolate’ to go. We snuggle that
night as the lion(s) roar and echo, and some other unidentified creatures join
in. P says this reminds him of the turkey-creature that tormented his sleep on
our honeymoon in Belize.
The
hands down highlight of staying at Wild Things? Breakfast. Around 9:30 the staff are spotted walking
toward us on the trail. They bear a
cooler of food, and are accompanied by Butch, who happens to be a 10,000 lb.
African elephant.
His big crinkled eyes
seem as if in permanent smile, and I am amazed at the long, wiry black
eyelashes. We’ve been fortunate to
fraternize with Thai elephants before, but they are puny in comparison to
massive Butch. The guide passes P a
plastic bag with fruits and carrots, and informs us that we can feed him by
hand. The long, muscular trunk creeps
over our balcony and the 2 “fingers” at his snout end begin to snuff and search
for the goodies. Butch is so big, that
in many of our photos, I can barely be seen behind that huge gray trunk. One at a time, he grabs an orange, and apple,
a carrot, out of our hands and curls his trunk inward to deposit it into his
mouth. After he’s eaten all the goodies
in our bag, he sidles up alongside the balcony – spanning almost the entire
length.
“You
can pet him, but don’t poke his ears,” the woman calls out. We run our palms along the massive torso and
ears, his lumpy head. Butch’s skin is so
bumpy that one barely believes he is real, it’s like being next to a huge
boulder. But then he blinks those big,
dark eyes, pokes you with his fruit-seeking snout, and swishes his tail. They bid us a good day and take Butch to
visit our neighbors in the “Big Cats Cabin.” We watch him pick apples our their hands as well, then settle down to
our carbo-loaded breakfast. P notes that
I always take us to places where we are the only Asian people around, often for
miles and miles or even days and days. Wild Things was a fab getaway, far way from not only Asian, but humans
in general. Perhaps in a distant future
anniversary, we’ll head to Kenya or some other African nation for a more thorough, actual Safari. But I know we’ll still remember gentle giant Butch of Salinas.
